


Lousy

by shepardgang



Category: The Outsiders (1983), The Outsiders - All Media Types
Genre: Gen, What really happened when Curly and Pony stuck cigarettes to each other's fingers, purly
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-30
Updated: 2021-01-30
Packaged: 2021-03-16 02:20:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,621
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29074713
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shepardgang/pseuds/shepardgang
Summary: And maybe Ponyboy feels foolish and maybe, later, he’ll blame it on the heat. But he’s freshly turned thirteen and it’s time for him to be a man, so he snatches the match from Curly’s hand and strikes it against the ground, watching as the flame engulfs the head.“You ready then, Shepard?”
Relationships: Ponyboy Curtis/Curly Shepard
Comments: 1
Kudos: 24





	Lousy

“Man, when’d we get so lousy?” Ponyboy asks, absentmindedly flicking the butt of his unlit cigarette with his finger. The alleyway cast a dark shadow over the side of his face, and he had to squint his eyes at the sliver of sunlight that shone through the space in the buildings. 

The Tulsa summer heat was relentless. It was too hot to do much of anything anymore. Fights were scarce during the day, and the gang opted out of playing football in the hundred-degree temperature that early August always offers. There was a quietness in the east side that Ponyboy always yearned for in the other seasons, and a calmness he often took advantage of. 

Maybe that’s why he found himself next to Curly Shepard, who has a fresh cigarette of his own placed delicately between his lips. The kid has a record at the police station that states he’s notorious for disturbing the peace. His wild curls are semi-matted to his forehead from sweat, and he bares his teeth as he scrounges his pockets for a match and grunts a response.

“Whaddaya mean?”

“Two greasy kids,” Ponyboy starts, looking at the mouth of the alley with a distant look in his eyes, “Pressin’ lit cigarettes to each other’s fingers for fun. That ain’t lousy to you?”

Curly scoffs at the question, as if it were the dumbest thing he could have said, but he doesn’t say anything. So Ponyboy takes that as his answer and leans his head back against the brick wall, stretching his arms across his bent legs.

He gazes up at the sky and all he can see is yellow. He wishes for fall, for the calming orange and brown colors of outside and the weather that was perfect. There was always something to do, always parties and events that consumed his time. Fall would never find him sitting in an alley deep in Shepard turf playing chicken with Curly.

“Wanna just catch a movie instead?” Ponyboy offers, tilting his head sideways to look at the other boy. His bangs drop in front of his eyes at the movement, but the heat’s made him sublime enough to refrain from fixing them.

“Jesus, Pone,” Curly laughs a laugh that only he could. “You wanna wuss out jus’ say something and we’ll go catch a goddamn movie.”

His words hold a challenge that he knows Ponyboy won’t refuse. Greasers like them don’t back down, because greasers like them always have something to prove.

But Ponyboy wonders what the hell Curly has to prove. His brother’s easily the toughest hood in Tulsa, with him not far behind. His big blue eyes, ones that Pony remembers to be clean and innocent, were now cold and hard at just fourteen years of age. He was growing just fine, nearly standing at six feet tall and he could hold his own in a fight well enough. Curly Shepard would be the definition of tough if it weren’t for his goofy side. The reckless and wild side that didn’t care he was supposed to be hard and unfeeling, the side that showed he was nothing but a young teenager. There was a thin line between insanity and imprudence, and Curly toed it every day. Ponyboy wonders how he could be so alike and so different to someone at the same time.

“I ain’t wussing out,” Ponyboy bites back, pushing himself up into a straighter position. The heat was almost unbearable at this point, and part of him wishes he’d never left the house.

“But, if I survive, can I go home?”

Curly’s gaze snaps to Ponyboy, his dark blue eyes wide at the question. His lips part and his eyebrows furrow and he looks nothing short of goofy, and if Ponyboy wasn’t so serious he might have laughed.

“If you—“ Curly cuts himself off to scrunch his face in confusion. There’s a thick silence that lasts for one too many seconds before Curly’s mouth stretches into a wide grin. He laughs that same laugh again, loud and obnoxious and the way his eyes close makes Ponyboy smile.

“Ponyboy,” Curly breathes, exasperated. His cigarette is barely hanging from his mouth by now, saved only by the full lips encompassing the very end. Ponyboy fights the urge to grab it from his mouth.

“It’s a cancer stick, Pone, not a goddamn bomb.”

And maybe Ponyboy feels foolish and maybe, later, he’ll blame it on the heat. But he’s freshly turned thirteen and it’s time for him to be a man, so he snatches the match from Curly’s hand and strikes it against the ground, watching as the flame engulfs the head.

“You ready then, Shepard?”

Curly grins and leans forward, holding the cigarette firmly between his teeth. His words are slightly muffled by the Kool, but Pony hears him well enough. 

“Light me up, baby Curtis.”

Squinting at the nickname, Pony holds the match to the end of the cigarette. Curly inhales slowly, his cheeks just barely caving in and he looks so effortlessly cool and tough, so effortlessly like Tim, that a small part of Ponyboy hates him for it. 

But then Curly’s leaning back and nodding his head in his direction and, with one last look, Ponyboy lights his own cigarette. 

“You know the rules,” Curly begins, shifting his position so that he’s directly in front of Ponyboy, “first one to pull away loses. Loser’s gotta snatch a pack of beer from that liquor store down the street.”

The cigarette burns orange between his fingers. Ponyboy knows he looks nervous, but he doesn’t know how Curly is being so calm about this, doesn’t know why Curly always seeks out pain. He supposes it’s for the guts and the glory, but a small part of his mind thinks that he’s been through so much already that he’s just desperate to feel something.

“You can still bitch out, Curtis.”

His tone doesn’t hold the tease that his words do, and he’s eyeing the younger boy with a blank expression. He can see plain as day that Ponyboy’s doing this just because his pride won’t let him walk away, and he briefly wonders why the hell he brought the boy into this in the first place.

But Ponyboy just shakes his head and holds up the pointer finger of his free hand. He’s surprised at how steady his movements are, his hand hanging in the air without a single shake. Curly reciprocates his position, and by now Pony can feel the heat coming off of the Kool.

“Three,” Curly starts, the smallest of smirks placed on his lips.

“Two,” Ponyboy’s gaze is unwavering on Curly’s. He refuses to look at the cigarette about to meet his flesh.

“One.”

And then all he can see is red. There’s a burning on his skin that he’s never felt before, a pain that spreads through his body. The cigarette makes a small hiss when it meets his finger, but the warmth spreads upward so fast it feels like a million of them are being pressed into his skin.

Sweat drips down his forehead in trails. Curly’s eyes are still on him, his gaze wild and reckless and crazy, gone so far past the insanity line that Pony thinks he’s lost him for good. He’s not going to back down anytime soon, Ponyboy knows, so it’s up to him to tap out or power through.

But Ponyboy’s never lifted anything in his short life, much less liquor. He doesn’t even drink. And he thinks he’d surely get caught, and then his mom and dad would have his hide. So he guesses he’ll just have to stick it through.

The burning in his finger has gone numb by now, leaving just throbbing pain up and down his arm. There’s a heat in his head that’s overwhelming, and it makes the world around him look like nothing but a hazy dream.

He hears someone yell, he thinks. Hears a muffled “HEY” over the beating of his heart. But he could just be hallucinating—because that’s what happens to someone before they die, he remembers reading it in a book—and he doesn’t want to give Curly the satisfaction of knowing that, so he ignores the voice altogether.

And he’s not really ready to die. He’s almost made it to high school and Darry says that’s when school gets real fun, but if it’s time for him to go then Ponyboy figures there’s nothing he can really do about it. 

Ponyboy’s too far gone into his mind saying goodbyes and Curly’s just plain too far gone that neither one of the boys notice the tall figure stomping down the alley. They don’t hear his yelling until the figure places his hand onto the back of Curly’s head and slams it forward, knocking both of their foreheads together.

The cigarettes drop onto the ground silently, both boys letting out loud groans in unison. Ponyboy blinks the haze away, and it’s only then he sees Tim Shepard standing there, arms crossed over his lean chest with a fire in his dark blue eyes. 

He squats down and he’s talking, real low and quiet but stern and scary and Pony really wishes he could pay attention, because he’s already going to have one knot on his forehead and he isn’t itchin’ for another. But the world around him is getting real spotty and he’s lightheaded, losing his vision. And he’s swaying, he thinks, or maybe the world is. Curly and Tim are both looking at him now, Tim with annoyance and Curly with humor. Ponyboy wants to know what’s so funny, but before he could ask he’s falling and hitting the ground, and the world goes black.


End file.
